Thresh: The Dark Descent
by Zelda48
Summary: Thresh wasn't always the sadistic, murdering wraith that Runeterra came to know. At one time he was a man, part of an order dedicated to the protection and study of powerful magical artifacts. As the world descends into chaos Thresh discovers a way to bring stability to a troubled world, deep in the twisted domain he guards. But can he do it before those within tear his mind apart?


Chapter 1 - The Warden

The Guild of Knowledge had been established at Natyr by an Archmage known as Morde in a time all but lost to history. Morde had created the Guild to safeguard and study several thousand dangerous magical artifacts which, should they fall into the wrong hands, lead to the destruction of the world. But in the right ones, they might be used to create more glorious Runeterra. To carry out this task, Morde selected amongst his students the most studious, strong willed, and cunning as those traits would serve them well when tempted by magic. He elected to store the artifacts in a remote archipelago called Natyr, a place so remote it was impossible to access by air or by sea seven months out of the year. No one, he was sure, would attempt to reach Natyr unless they wished an exceptionally painful demise at the hands of the elements.

Nevertheless, Morde instructed his students to cast spells over the area to ward off anyone who happened to pass by, especially in the summer, when the isles were more approachable. To store the artifacts and to mitigate their evil aura, a great castle was also constructed, several stories high and almost as deep, with the lower realms being home to the artifacts and the upper to those who guarded them. It was in this manner that the Guild was created.

Seventy years later, where things passed largely without incident, Morde died. His students selected among them the most skilled mage to replace their Lord. Their choice was a powerful young mage known as Rayak who they named Mordekaiser, in honor of Morde. The students assumed he would be the one who would carry on much as their Lord did. They were dreadfully wrong.

It is here that our story begins.

...

The night was cold and damp at Natyr. Cold on the outside and inside. Although that was how it usually was. The citadel which sat atop Natyr was always cold, even in the summer when temperatures would rise well above freezing and Guild members could be seen walking the shoreline bare up to their thighs. But summer was long gone. It had been six months since the lagoon separating the island chain, of which Natyr was one, had frozen solid. One could walk from one island to another, if they wished, although the storms and occasional blizzards made that a task few would take with difficulty. Most Guild members would stay indoors, either in cottages surrounding the citadel or in the castle itself. Natyr was a place of knowledge and they were its keepers, no one was about to risk freezing to death to gather a few pieces of firewood for their stoves or to say hello to a friend. They had lived here for centuries, they would make do.

That was not to say that the cold did not bother the Guild. After all these years, it never ceased to unsettle, although few would show it. There was something about Natyr that seemed _eerie_. As if something wasn't quite right. Those fears were well grounded. Two years ago, a young guildsman named Ashir had disappeared without a trace. He had last been seen traveling to the citadel, reportedly to speak with Mordekaiser about a fellow guidsman. Naturally there had been an investigation, but whoever had silenced Ashir, if anyone had, had never been found. Guidsmen occasionally reported hearing Ashir's tormented screams in the night, a desperate plea for help riddled with agony. Some wondered if the Isle was haunted, but Mordekaiser dismissed the possibility as preposterous. More likely the artifacts had affected the minds of some imaginative guidsmen, as far as he was concerned.

But it happened again. This time an old man, near death, who had been given leave to live on the outskirts of Natyr. One morning a guidsman visited his home to a gory sight, blood splattered all over the walls and a few bits of the old man's flesh lying in pieces on the floor. But the man was gone. Once again, there was an investigation but the culprit was never found. Mordekaiser ordered the home searched for artifacts and when none were found, the place was burned to the ground. He cast a charm over it, to ward off evil spirits and doubled the night watch at Natyr should the culprit attempt such action once more.

Yet the hauntings, such as they were, grew louder than before. Guildsmen reported that they could hear an old man begging for mercy and wailing in pain when his pleas were rejected. And at least once, a flash of green light followed by the jangling of chains was observed where the cottage once was.

After these events, Guildsmen had taken to sleeping draughts to avoid the night terrors. They rarely spoke and most stayed indoors even during the summertime. And when they did venture outside it was in armed parties of two or more, just in case they happened to meet their night visitor. Everyone did, that is, except Thresh.

Thresh was a guildsman who had been at Natyr for several years. He was a quiet, methodical man, tall in stature but slim and unimpressive with his long white hair and pale blue eyes. Few had thought much of him when he arrived at Natyr, not there had been much opportunity to think otherwise. Thresh was a recluse. For those who spoke with him conversation was short and to the point. He never attended meals. And he rarely came outside of his own volition, and when he did, the light seemed to be so disagreeable to him that he covered his head with his cloak to block it out. Most of his time was spent in a vault, below the citadel, which contained some of the most dangerous artifacts in Natyr. There was a book that could hypnotize anyone who read it, a mirror that, when one looked at it, felt a powerful urge to kill, and a bell that would drive insane anyone who heard it. Everything under his watch was evil in one way or another and naturally, was guarded with runes, charms, and arcane locks. Only Thresh and Mordekaiser held the keys, with Thresh opting them to hang, bound by essence, from his belt.

Most guidsmen did their work in various rooms around the citadel, usually within safe distance of a particular artifact, and once this was done would return to their cottages or the upper levels of the castle. Not Thresh. What he guarded was so dangerous, so corrupted that virtually none of it was fit to study. The risk was so great that even bringing one of Thresh's charges into contact with the less strong willed might wreck unimaginable havoc. Thresh, for his part, took regular doses of laudanum to preserve his sanity and wore enchanted gloves to avoid being possessed by anything he handled.

If Thresh hadn't stayed in the castle as much as he did he would have certainly been a prime suspect in the Guild's investigation. Both in Ashir's death and that of the old man. Indeed, Thresh wasn't even considered to have had a hand in the matter. Yet it was odd, some thought, that the twin murders which had never happened before on Natyr, didn't seem to bother him in the least. In fact, Thresh seemed cheerful when he emerged, once or twice in the coming days. Like something very good had happened. But this didn't raise suspicion either. After all, Thresh was an odd person.

...

Thresh walked down the hallway of the dank, dark chamber, holding his lantern in front of him to see where he was going. He carried his lantern everywhere, partially out of habit, partially out of need. He patrolled the lowest levels of the citadel, where natural light had no reach and torchlight was a poor substitute. His lantern, on the other hand, provided all the light he needed.

It was a funny thing his lantern. Square shaped but slightly curved along the sides and a low platform on the top, welded to the handle by which he grasped it. That was normal enough, what wasn't was that it never went out - it was enchanted. Thresh had learned the incantation after a very frustrating week in the chamber. It had rained much more than usual that week, and structural problems in the castle had allowed groundwater to seep through the cracks and flood his domain. Thresh grimaced at the memory. One moment studying the Scroll of Di'ahkbar, the next plunged into darkness. _Well_ , thought Thresh, looking at the pale orange glow emanating from his lantern, _not anymore_.

A loud boom sounded from above. Thresh paused and listened. _Boom, boom, boom_ it was the gong for the evening meal. Thresh acknowledged it any moved on. He had more important things to do.

At short length Thresh reached a tall metal frame with a irregular lock in the middle. A strange green mist oozed through the keyhole and seeped through a short distance. Thresh smiled, he had reached section 7, as indicated by the jagged '7' carved above the frame. His little domain.

Thresh took a key from his belt and turned the lock. The door swung open and Thresh went in.

The room was small, only hardly over twelve feet long in either direction, and like the rest of the chamber it was poorly lit. Torches lined the wall, alighting the room with pale green flame. The mist which had seeped through the door swelled around Thresh's boots as he stepped inside. The walls were pure stone. The floor, if it could be called that, was filthy. Blood was splattered in several places and the organs of his most recent victims were piled in a corner. Thresh grimaced as he saw this. Not that the sight of blood or guts bothered him, but the smell was awful. _No matter..._ he thought, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin steel mask and placed it on his face. _That's better_

The mask transformed him. Normally Thresh had a relatively handsome face, with pale blue eyes and a permanent smirk complementing his high cheekbones and long, white hair, which he had recently taken to braiding. But with the cold steel over his face, the jagged opening for his mouth, and slits for his eyes, he became a monster. But what was a monster without a victim?

Thresh smiled. The two deaths in Natyr had caused him quite a bit of trouble. While he had managed to evade suspicion the mess he'd made was very annoying. Especially with the old man... Thresh shook his head, there had been so much blood he'd been forced to use magic to clean his cloak. And using magic, in a realm where all magic is corrupt, had severely wounded him. Thresh still had a scar on his abdomen from the spear he almost impaled himself with. But the evidence had been concealed and that was all that mattered.

And how convenient! The Guild had even brought him a plaything for him to torment. Thresh glanced at the writhing form on the table before him. Another old man, but unlike the one at the cottage, this man had infused his body with raw sorcery, his skin would regenerate and his body would heal, no matter how grievous the wound. To think he had been living on Natyr the whole time! Thresh doubted if he ever would have found him otherwise. His presence delighted Thresh, especially the first time he cut him. Seeing the blood spurt out of the wound, hearing the man scream in agony, and cutting again and again and again, the man begging him to stop, pleading for mercy... and Thresh would stop. He would watch as the skin sewed itself back together and the man groaning as his body, once broken was made whole. Then he would start again, raking his hook along the man's back, penetrating his skull with raw iron and steel. _Oh yes..._ Thresh thought, it was wonderful.

The perfect toy. That's who this man was.

And the toy had noticed him.

Thresh watched as the man cried out and tugged at the chains that bound him. He tried to hide it but Thresh could see his face, eyes wide, face contorted in fear. The sight filled him with pleasure, as he walked over to one of the room's many stone outcrops and grabbed a slender metal implement by the long chain that bound it, his hook. Of all his instruments of torture it was his favorite. He had used it to tear the heart out of the guildsman Ashir and he had torn the old man to pieces in a few tugs. Thresh ran a gloved hand over the sharp, curved blade and looked at the man hungrily. It wouldn't be long now...

"Please..." the man whimpered, eyes fixed on the hook, "N-no..."

"What was that prisoner?" Thresh asked. He always addressed the man in such a manner. Oh he was sure he had a name. But Thresh just hadn't bothered to remember it. "I said, what was that?"

"D-don't hurt me." the man said, "Please..."

Thresh smiled, "Don't worry prisoner." he said, "I won't hurt you." the man seemed to relax, if only for an instant, before Thresh swung his hook slamming it into the man's chest. The man screamed as Thresh tore it out with a yank and blood spurted from the wound. Thresh watched as he writhed on the table for a short time before his tissues healed.

"You said you wouldn't hurt me." the man said, struggling for breath.

"I lied." Thresh said, "Surely you didn't think I came to listen to you beg for mercy did you?" he laughed "Now that wouldn't be any fun, would it?"

Thresh twirled his hook and stepped forward. "Do you know what I like most about this room?"

The man did not respond. Thresh jabbed him with his hook, " _Do you know what I like most about this room?_ " he hissed, thrusting his masked face in front of the man. "Hmm?"

"No... no... I don't know..."

"That's better!" Thresh said, ripping his hook through the man's flesh as he did so causing him to howl in pain. Fresh blood trickled through his wounds and dripped on the floor. "What I like most about this room..." Thresh panted, "is that it doesn't stain when you make a mess!" he exclaimed as he raised his hook and smashed it next to the man's face, making him jump and the chains rattle.

"Give me a name." Thresh said.

"A n-name?"

"Do I need to repeat myself prisoner?" Thresh asked, holding his hook menacingly.

"No..." the man said, eyes fixed on the hook. "Magnus Payn." he said, "That's the name, Magnus Payn..."

"Magnus Payn?" Thresh said thoughtfully, attempting to match a face with the name. "The guild master of the antiquities division?"

The man nodded frantically. Anything to delay the suffering he knew awaited him.

"Very good." Thresh said. "You have done well prisoner. And now, yes now, you shall have your reward." the man howled as the hook came crashing down and the night was stained with blood.


End file.
